


need, want

by sassymordechais (archiveofwebs)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Waking Up, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25046626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archiveofwebs/pseuds/sassymordechais
Summary: It was hands that woke him up. He thinks that this might be the softest way he’s ever been awoken.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 3
Kudos: 55





	need, want

**Author's Note:**

> something small because i was having soft jonelias feelings the other day...

It was hands that woke him up. He thinks that this might be the softest way he’s ever been awoken. The hands start on his face, trailing over his cheekbones and down his jaw, a light pressure that tells him there’s someone there but not enough to hurt him. There’s a swipe across his bottom lip, firm, that has him whining in the back of his throat. 

The thumb lingers on his lip for a moment, warm and heavy, before it slides away. It takes all his effort not to give chase, not to seek out that hand, but he keeps still. The hands caress his neck, not spending much time there, except for a brief pause over his pulse. It’s even, he knows that, but he wishes it would pick up, to let the other man know that he wants, wants, wants, needs, needs, needs. 

Need, want. Need, want. Need, want. 

He’s had too many years of practice keeping his heart calm. It’s a habit he will never be able to break. 

(He won’t be broken. He’s the one who breaks. 

He wouldn’t mind giving everything up for this man.)

The hands press flat against his collarbone, sliding down just so to rest palms over his beating heart. It’s not his, it’s permanently borrowed, but it’s his nonetheless. It beats for him and it beats for this man. 

There’s lips pressed to the top of his head and he sighs happily. 

“Jon…”

“Elias.”

My Archivist. 

Heart.


End file.
